


Identities

by boy1dr



Series: YJTS 'Verse [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Coming Out, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Trans Dick Grayson, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-06-17
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6121028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boy1dr/pseuds/boy1dr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Robin’s a boy’s name. Right?”</p><p>Dick Grayson is not a girl. He's known that for as long as he can remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As I am wont to do, I picked and chose from various canons to create the version of the Grayson family I like best. I'm using Dick's extended family from Young Justice, but before the second chapter they'll have split off to a circus currently touring Europe. Dick's father goes by Giovanni, but is legally named John, and performs under that name. 
> 
> No trigger warnings that I can think of for this chapter, except that Dick's birth name is thrown around a bit at the beginning, and there's a short, nonspecific mention of someone unimportant opposing his gender.

Dick didn’t remember when he figured out something was wrong. When he started flinching when they called him Marielle. His parents tried their best. He didn’t flinch when they called him Robin. 

“Robin’s a boy’s name. Right?” Dick asked when he was four. Mary swore he’d started speaking in full sentences, inscrutable as a baby and toddler until suddenly he’d opened up his mouth and started asking all the questions he’d been storing up. 

“For you, it’s a nickname,” Mary said. She watched her tone, careful to keep it neutral. “Some girls use it, and some boys use it, and some people use it who aren’t either.” She and Giovanni had been waiting for the day that question would come. When he was three and started to teach himself tumbling, she’d sewed him a leotard like her own, but he’d pushed it away, pointing to Vanni’s outfit instead. When he was two, he’d stolen the scissors and cut his hair short, giggling as he looked in the mirror afterwards. Giovanni had cleaned up the choppy lines, and since then, their Robin had worn his hair short. 

“You said you didn’t like being called Marielle,” Mary said. A year ago, Giovanni had noticed him recoiling from the sound of his birth name and asked if he still wanted to use it. Dick had answered with a pout and a shake of his head, stomping his little foot against the floor of their trailer. 

“I don’t,” Dick said. He squared his shoulders and jutted his chin, a portrait of determination in miniature. “Robin is better. I like it, but it’s not my real name.” 

He’d always been their little Robin, even before they noticed the flinching. Ever since he started reaching for the trapeze, humming to himself as he swung barely above the ground. 

“What’s your real name?” Mary asked. 

Dick shrugged. “You’re s’pposed to give me one.” 

“What kind of name do you want?” 

“A boy’s name?” Dick’s resolve cracked, and he looked up at Mary with pleading eyes, begging her to accept him. 

“We can do that,” Mary said. She scooped Dick up into her arms, kissing his cheek. “You can be anyone you want.” 

“Even a boy?” Dick asked. 

Mary smiled. “Even a boy.” 

Dick nodded solemnly. “I’m a boy now. I need a boy name.” 

“We’ll find you a good one.” Mary hugged him a little bit tighter. Every day, she thanked her lucky stars that her Robin had been born into a circus, had been born to them. He could be whoever he wanted here. No one would look twice, and if anyone did, well, the circus never stayed in one place too long anyway. “Now, come on, little Robin. It’s time to get ready for the show.” 

Dick always watched Mary curl her ponytail and put on her makeup, sitting captivated as she painted her eyelids blue and her lips red. Midway through the process, Giovanni swept in, glistening with sweat, hair wild as ever. 

“You’re late,” Mary said. Giovanni came up behind her and hugged her, turning his head for a kiss. “Not now! My lipstick hasn’t dried!” She laughed as Giovanni kissed the tip of her nose instead. 

“The clowns needed an extra hand setting up. You know how it goes,” Giovanni said. 

“I know it always goes the same way in every city. You get hung up helping and you’re almost late for the performance.” 

“I’ve never been late in my life,” Vanni said, dressing as quickly as he could. 

As he changed, Dick tugged on his unitard and leaned his face up to Mary. She dusted his face with golden glitter. 

“There you go! Now go find Johnny,” Mary said, sending Dick off after his cousin. As soon as he’d left the trailer, Mary turned to Giovanni. 

“Uh-oh. You sent Robin away. That means I’m in deep trouble.” 

Mary laughed. “For once, no. Though you will be if you don’t comb your hair.” 

“I’m combing!” Vanni said, reaching for a comb and a bottle of hair gel. “Now. What’s going on that the little bit can’t hear?” 

“He wants a new name. And he wants us to pick it out.” 

“He?” Giovanni asked, a hint of a smile on his lips. “It’s he now?” 

“Yes, Vanni. He finally spoke up today.” 

“I thought he’d want to pick his name himself.” 

“He wants it from us. Told me that’s how real names work.” 

Vanni laughed. “So that’s why!” He finished combing his hair and set the comb and gel on the dresser. 

“Let me see you,” Mary said, standing to reach his face. Giovanni leaned down and Mary dusted him with the glitter. “You’re actually ready on time for once!” 

“I’m too helpful,” Giovanni said, feigning regret. “It’s a curse!”

“A curse?” Mary said, raising her eyebrows. 

“It can only be broken by true love’s kiss!” 

“Well, you’d better go start looking,” Mary said, but moved forward into his outstretched arms. 

“Oh, I think I have a good idea where to look.” Giovanni pulled her close and leaned down to kiss her. “For luck,” he whispered against her lips. 

“For luck,” Mary agreed as she took his hand and pulled him towards the door. 

Dick wasn’t really in the public eye yet, still too young to do much more than stand on the sidelines. That was good; the fewer people that had heard of the Flying Graysons’ daughter, the more seamless it would be to switch to calling him their son. 

After the show, the Graysons headed as a group towards Rick and Karla’s trailer. They always ate dinner as a family, and it was Rick’s turn to cook tonight. Dick tugged on Giovanni’s shirt as they walked. 

“Da?” 

“Yeah?” Vanni said, picking Dick up and swinging him into his arms. 

“Did Mom tell you about my name?” Dick asked.

“She did! I’ve been thinking!” 

“Think faster,” Dick said. 

Vanni laughed. “Tell you what, kiddo. What if we ask everyone at dinner if they have any ideas? We picked out your old name together before you were born, so what if we do it now too?” 

Dick nodded. “Okay.” 

Once everyone had served themselves and sat down, Giovanni spoke over the usual chatter.  
“Robin has something important he’d like us to talk about.” 

“So we’re using he now?” Karla asked. 

Dick nodded. “I’m a boy.” 

“He wants us to pick him out a new name. Any ideas?” 

Rick spoke almost instantly. He’d obviously planned for this conversation. “Well, Vanni. I named one after you. Isn’t it fair that you return the favor?” 

He turned to Dick. “What do you say, kiddo? Wanna be a Richard too?” 

Dick’s face split in a grin. “I like it.” 

Word spread quickly through the circus that the little princess of the Big Top had become the little prince. No one was particularly surprised, and one roustabout who made a rude comment found himself fired on the spot. The circus took care of its own. 

The next night, the show went on almost as usual. Dick did his few little flips close to the ground, and then watched the rest of his family fly. But one thing was different. 

At the beginning of their act, Pop Haly’s voice boomed through the Big Top. 

“And for our sensational next act we have the stupefying, the death-defying! The world-renowned Flying Graysons! John Grayson!” 

Giovanni smiled and waved at the crowd. 

“Mary Grayson!” 

Mary waved a hand and grinned. 

“Richard Grayson!” 

Rick raised a hand to the crowd and did an exaggerated bow. 

“Karla Grayson!” 

Karla curtseyed. 

“Johnny Grayson!” 

Johnny raised both hands, waving. 

“And introducing! The youngest of the Flying Graysons, Dick Grayson!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this utterly destroyed me to write. I'm sorry I've been putting it off so long; it's just completely emotionally grueling to get through the events of this chapter. 
> 
> Trigger warnings: 
> 
> Here there be canonical character death. The very end has some fairly graphic description of the aftermath, as well as a resulting panic attack.

The man tipped his hat and smiled like a hyena as he strode briskly out of the big top. Dick was heading inside when the man bumped into him, knocking him over.

“Hey!” Dick said as he stood up and dusted himself off, but the man didn’t slow or look back. Dick shuddered. Something about the stranger set his teeth on edge.

He forgot about the encounter almost as soon as he found his parents. They were in hushed, rapid conversation with Pop Haly, but stopped as soon as Dick walked in.

“Hey kiddo!” Vanni said once he caught sight of him, waving. “Time to get dressed already?”

Dick nodded. “C’mon, Da! We’ve gotta go!”

Dick took one of each of their hands as they walked back to the trailer. Giovanni kept telling him that he was getting too big to be swung between them, but the moment Dick looked up at him, eyes big and hopeful, he always relented.

Once they got back Mary caught sight of the clock above the stove.

“Dick… It’s only six. What’s your game?”

Dick took a deep breath, looking up at them in the same way that always got him what he wanted.

“Let me do the finale. I’ve been practicing! You know I’m good enough!”

“It’s not about good enough,” Vanni said. “It’s about old enough. You could get hurt, and you’re not old enough to be able to understand the risk.”

“But I won’t get hurt! Please!”

“Maybe next year,” Mary said, laying a hand on his shoulder. “Okay?”

Dick sighed. “You keep saying that but you never mean it.”

Mary knelt to hug him, leaning her forehead against his. “I’m just looking out for you, okay?”

“Okayyy,” Dick said, his words belied by the whine in his voice.

“Now let’s get ready,” Mary said. Her tone was not unkind, but Dick knew it meant the conversation was over.

Their outfits had changed since Dick was four, the blue giving way to spangled red. Mary pulled her hair back now, and Dick had started slicking his flat like Vanni’s. Rick, Karla, and Johnny had left to tour Eastern Europe with Karla’s family, so now the Flying Graysons were down to three.

Some things didn’t change, though. Dick still turned up his face, eyes closed and lips smiling, to be dusted with gold glitter. Mary still dodged Vanni’s kisses until her lips dried, and then kissed him as Dick faked gagging. They turned to Dick afterwards and scooped him up, planting a kiss on each cheek as he laughed and squirmed.

Their routine was broken on their way back to the Big Top when a small boy, maybe four, ran up to them, parents following behind at a more sedate pace. He skidded to a stop a foot or two away, looking up at them in awe.

“You’re the Flying Graysons,” he said after a bit.

The boy’s parents had caught up by then, and his mother began a litany of apologies before Vanni waved them off.

“What’s your name?” Vanni said, crouching down beside him.

“Timothy Jackson Drake,” the boy said, lifting his chin as he spoke. “But you can call me Tim,” he finished with a shy smile.

“Well, Tim,” Mary said, stepping forward, “I’m Mary, this here is John, and this is Dick.” Dick grinned.

“Nice to meet you,” Tim said, stretching out his right hand. Dick laughed and pulled him into a hug.

Tim was small and warm and just a bit stiff. He took a moment to relax into Dick’s arms, but once he did he threw his arms around him and squeezed tightly. Dick’s heart broke just a bit, and he didn’t let go until Tim’s parents began to fidget.

“Do you want a picture?” Dick asked. Tim nodded violently.

Vanni picked Tim up and held him on one hip, Mary moving in close to his other side and Dick standing in front of them. There was a bit of a shuffle as Tim’s mother pulled a camera out of her purse.

“Say cheese!” Vanni said, and there was a flash.

“We’ll let you get back to your business now,” Tim’s mother said, words clipped, as Giovanni put Tim down. “Come on, Timothy. Let’s get to our seats.”

He looked back at Dick as they walked away. Dick raised one hand in a small wave, and Tim smiled.

The rest of the evening went by in the usual pleasant blur of light and sound. Dick did his part of the routine perfectly, even the quadruple somersault he’d only added a few months ago. After he finished, he waited with his parents on the platform while they took down the net for the final stunt.

“Soon, little Robin,” Mary whispered, squeezing his hand, as the spotlight swept back over to them. Vanni tousled his hair.

“All right,” Dick said, genuine this time. He grinned at his parents, then out to the audience as the three of them waved to the crowd.

Vanni and Mary swung off the platform.

Dick noticed the rope breaking, screamed “NO!!!”

Just a moment too late.

They hit the ground with a sickening thud, and Dick’s world went fuzzy around the edges.

The crowd was screaming, rustling, stampeding. Cameras flashed. Dick moved in a haze, didn’t even realize he’d started climbing down before he was on the ground.

He pushed through the doctors and reporters, barely seeing or feeling them, shoving his way through the crowd until he got to his parents. He knelt between them and begged them to wake up, checking for breathing or a pulse. Ignoring the doctors, ignoring the angle of his mother’s neck, ignoring the dent in his father’s skull. He found nothing.

He looked down at his hands, saw them sparkle in the lights from glitter mixed with blood. Dick closed his eyes and screamed.

Where would he go what would he do he'd lost everything his parents his home his name his identity... They'd take him. Take him away from his parents, from his circus, make him live as a girl who never existed under a name that was never his, and he'd never see his parents again.  _Could_ never see his parents again. They were gone, and he was covered in their blood. 

When he opened his eyes, everything was blurry. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. A man stepped forward, knelt down, and pulled him into his arms. He couldn’t breathe. The man looked down at him with piercing blue eyes, the sadness in them only outmatched by Dick’s own. He couldn’t breathe.

And then there was silence and darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someday I'll get my mentally ill ass in gear and actually adhere to a regular update schedule... 
> 
> This was a really interesting chapter to write; I had a LOT of research to do on custody laws, and I honestly couldn't find anything concrete for Dick's situation. I hope I didn't completely misrepresent everything and that the liberties I've taken can be forgiven, considering it's Gotham and...everything kind of sucks there. 
> 
> It was really interesting to have to come at all these huge events from the perspective of a barely-nine-year-old. Writing kids is hard, even though I have a brother almost exactly Dick's age in this chapter. Kids somehow end up simultaneously way smarter and way more ignorant than I expect them to. 
> 
> This chapter contains mentions of blood and death, as well as fears of outing and misgendering.

“He’s waking up,” someone said. Everything was fuzzy still, flashing lights and muffled words and sirens. Dick tried to sit up.

“Be careful,” a woman’s voice said. “You passed out, remember? Remember to breathe.” 

“Where’s Mom?” he said. Had he gotten hurt? Where were his parents? 

The woman laid her hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.” Dick turned towards her and took in her police uniform, connected it with the sirens flashing behind her. 

And the respite, the sweet few seconds of hazy forgetfulness ended. He looked down at his hands, afraid of seeing the blood again but even more afraid of just leaving them dirty. They were clean, though. Someone must’ve wiped him clean while he was unconscious. The only outward sign of what he’d been through was the blood still on his clothes. His stomach lurched.

“They’re gone, aren’t they?” he said, voice as calm as he could muster.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said again, the hand on his shoulder squeezing gently.

Dick didn’t realize he was crying until he was already gasping, tears streaming down his face as he wailed.

“Bring them BACK,” he said, small fists clenched. He pushed away the woman’s hand and tried to stand and run back into the big top. He stumbled, then sank to his knees and continued to sob.

Someone draped a blanket around his shoulders. Dick clung to the scratchy orange fabric. He wiped his eyes and nose on one corner, then hugged the blanket back around himself.

“Where’s Pop--Mr. Haly?” Dick asked. His voice squeaked, then steadied itself. “I want Mr. Haly.”  

“He’s busy right now. I’m sure you’ll be able to see him later.”

“But I want him _now_ ,” Dick said. “Everything’s too loud.”

“We’ll get you out of here in just a minute.” 

“Where are you gonna take me?” Dick asked.

“We’ll go down to the station and talk,” she said, “And then find a place for you to stay until we sort things out. There should be a bed open for you at a nice home, don’t worry.”

Dick’s stomach clenched. They couldn’t take him. “I want Mr. Haly,” he said. “He’ll let me stay with him.”

“He’s answering a few questions,” the policewoman said. She was trying to sound soothing, Dick could tell. Trying to keep him from panicking. But if Pop wasn’t allowed to see him, that must mean...

“He didn’t DO it,” Dick said, suddenly furious. “He didn’t kill them. The man I saw earlier did.”

Another officer turned toward him, a man with a mustache and glasses. “You saw someone?” He took two steps towards Dick before a man in a long, black coat stepped between Dick and the officer.

“For God’s sake, Jim, give the boy some room to grieve why don’t you?” the man said. Dick recognized him, however hazily, as the man who held him earlier. “You won’t get anything out of him when he's like this.” The man knelt down and turned to Dick. “I’m sorry for all the fuss. They mean well, I promise.” There were bloodstains on his coat from where Dick had clung to him.

“Mr. Wayne,” the officer said, taking another step towards them. “You’re still a civilian, and I’ll have to ask you to step aside while we take Dick for…”

“No,” Dick said, voice hitching as he began crying again.

“Dick,” the officer said. “My name is Commissioner Gordon, and I need you to talk to me so I can figure out what happened.”

“Don’t wanna. Don’t want you to take me away.” Dick stepped closer to the blue-eyed man, who wrapped an arm around him protectively.

“We’ll get you a nice warm bed after we talk,” the commissioner said. “We can’t just…”

“You can’t!!” Dick said, pitch rising.

“You have to--”

Dick began sobbing again. He threw his arms around the man’s neck. “Don’t let them take me away,” Dick mumbled into his shoulder.

Commissioner Gordon sighed. “Well, Bruce, since you’re so intent on meddling, looks like you got your wish. At least he listens to you.”

Bruce stood, shifting Dick’s weight onto one hip. “Come on. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dick was small even for nine, built lean like his father. He felt even smaller as Bruce cradled him to his chest and lifted him like he weighed nothing.

“You can’t let them put me in a home,” he said, as much conviction in his voice as he could muster. It didn’t sound as impressive out loud, spoken through tears and punctuated by sharp inhales.

“I won’t,” Bruce said, Dick could feel his voice rumbling through his chest.

Bruce put Dick down in the back seat of a police car, and before Dick could grab for his hand, sat down next to him.

“You gotta promise,” Dick said, breathing steadying. He knew trusting a stranger could go wrong in a thousand different ways, but Bruce seemed at the very least kind. He’d rather try his odds with him than the certainty of being outed if he went into the system.

Bruce’s eyes darted around the car. He sighed, then bent towards Dick, his mouth nearly touching Dick’s ear.

“Do you want to come home with me?” he asked.

This was practically the first thing Dick had learned as a child. Don’t go home with strangers. But it wasn’t like he had a better option. He swallowed hard and nodded.

“Tell them that I’m an old family friend. That I’d always come to the circus when it was in town. My name is Bruce Wayne.”

Dick nodded again, then cocked his head and studied Bruce. “But it’s just a house? Not an orphanage or something?” he whispered.

“Just a house.”

Dick sniffled a little, then wiped away his tears with the back of one hand. “Okay, Mr. Wayne.”

“Bruce.”

“Okay, Bruce,” Dick said. He ignored the tears that still welled up in his eyes. He could mourn later, when he got somewhere safe.

The time at the station passed in a blur of conversations Dick didn’t quite understand. He spent the hours with his hands whiteknuckled in Bruce’s coat, one of Bruce’s arms wrapped around him protectively.

The Commissioner spoke slower when he talked to Dick, used shorter words and made enough eye contact to make Dick squirm.

“Do you know this man?”

“Sure,” Dick said. “He’s Bruce Wayne. Comes to see us whenever we’re in Gotham. We--” No. Not we anymore. Just him. “ _I_ like him plenty. He’s always nice to me.”

“Do you want to go home with him?”

“Yeah,” Dick said, then ducked his head and curled back up into Bruce’s side. “Can we go now?”

They couldn’t. There were questions for Bruce, papers for him to fill out. Something about a background check.

“This is...highly irregular,” Commissioner Gordon said.

“So you’re just going to let him become a street kid?”

“I didn’t say that, Bruce. And besides, we have plenty of facilities for--”

“Bullshit,” Bruce said, louder than he’d spoken all night. “You know the retention rates for those places. He obviously wants to go home with me.”

Jim sighed exaggeratedly. “It’s not because you’re my friend, for the record. It’s because I know what happens to kids in this godforsaken city.”

“I’d never ask for favoritism, Commissioner,” Bruce said.

The commissioner snorted. “Of course not. Well, so long as your record comes back clean, you get your wish this time. But once Child Services gets around to it, the mess is out of my hands.”

Bruce had been tense the whole conversation, but at those words Dick felt him relax. Dick relaxed too. It must have been near morning by now, and he couldn’t keep from drifting off. They roused him at one point, had him sign a few forms.

He’d never been so glad that they’d changed his name legally. Pop Haly had taken a collection for his sixth birthday, and they’d had it done as soon as they got back in the States from their European tour. Dick hadn’t been too concerned about it at the time, but he couldn’t have foreseen this.

Bruce didn’t have to know, now. Nobody did. Puberty was a good two years away, if he was lucky. Graysons were late bloomers, and maybe by then he’d have a better plan.

“How much longer?” Dick asked once he’d scribbled down his signature.

“Not much. But it’ll go faster if you get some rest, you know.”

He laid his head in Bruce’s lap, one hand still clutching his coat. The general buzz of the station faded into background noise, and the steady rhythm of Bruce’s breathing soothed him into unconsciousness.

“Dick,” Bruce said gently, interrupting what seemed like both an eternity and only a moment of deep, dark sleep.

Dick woke slowly, blinking against the florescent lights.

“Do I gotta sign something else?” he said, slurring the words slightly.

Bruce looked down at him and smiled, small and bittersweet.

“C’mon, Dick. We’re going home.”

 


End file.
